The Doctor and the Secretary
by Irishlass18
Summary: It's gone too far, that much is certain. Their little game has reached its pinnacle and now there is going to be a reckoning, here and now. He has managed to maintain his cool during their earlier more public meetings—hard to do with her scent hovering in the air around him—but now it is time to let the Beast out or else he'll go insane. Beast/OC *pure smut warning*


_This Beast of this story is resembling in physicality the Beast from X:Men Last Stand, though there are elements of him that reflect the Beast of First Class (just imagine it as a young Beast vs. mature Beast). I only own the original character everything else belongs to Marvel._

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It's gone too far, that much is certain. Their little game has reached its pinnacle and now there is going to be a reckoning, here and now. He has managed to maintain his cool during their earlier meetings—hard to do with her scent, so ripe and alluring, hovering in the air around him—but now it is time to let the Beast out or else he'll go insane.

The sound of the door opening interrupts his thoughts and he hides his smile. He doesn't bother to look up from the papers he's been staring at for the past twenty minutes, unable to focus on anything except what is to come.

"You're late, Miss Jones."

"I'm sorry, Dr. McCoy, it won't happen again."

"That's right it won't." He glares at her over the rims of his glasses. "I'll be dictating a personal letter today, Miss Jones. I assume you have no objection?"

Miss Jones crosses and uncrosses her legs, tugging at her skirt to hide the lace tops of her nude-colored seamed stockings. He knows without having to look closely that she is also wearing off-white garters. She clears her throat and adjusts her pad of paper.

"Certainly not, Dr. McCoy."

"All right then. Dear Annamaree. That's separated with a "a" and ends with two 'e's." He leans back in his chair and observes her as she begins to write, admiring the way her fingers wrap around the thin pencil.

"Yes, sir."

He smirks before continuing, "Dear Annamaree. It was great to meet you recently to discuss our mutual business concerns. I appreciate your interest in the possibility of an official reorganization of our departments. That's 'reorganization,' one word, Miss Jones."

"Yes, sir, I know."

Dr. McCoy gets out of his chair and comes around the side of the desk, sitting on the edge of it. He perches just close enough to her so that should she look up she will be eye level with his hips. Without fail, she looks up at him, her eyes pausing on his hips, before traveling up the length of his torso to his face. He has always noticed the way her pulse quickens when he studies her too intently for proper office decorum. He doesn't try to hide his appreciation of her particularly low-cut blouse, the one with a V-neck that shows a hint of cleavage, he loves this one.

"As a follow up to our conversation, I would like to offer you a position as assistant deputy manager at our firm, I've attached the terms in this memo. Miss Jones, attach this memo," he holds out a paper to her, just enough out of reach that she has to lean forward to take it from his loose fingers.

Her eyes widen slightly when she catches his eyes straying to her chest. "Yes. Yes, sir."

Dr. McCoy leans closer and clears his throat. "More importantly, however, I wish to compliment you on your skills as a diplomatic tactician. Suggesting we meet for a late lunch in a bar at a hotel was risky but inspiring. This, I believe, highlights how suitable you are for this position under me." He pauses just long enough to watch a tinge of crimson spread across her cheeks. "I expect any other applicant would have suggested an earlier meeting, perhaps at a more public restaurant, which wouldn't have allowed for the quality of discourse we personally enjoyed. That's discourse, o-u-r-s-e, Miss Jones."

"Yes, sir. I know."

"Furthermore, attending the meeting without wearing underwear was a commendable if slightly daring career move." He listens to her breath catch slightly and again hides his smile, being sure to keep his voice clear and even. "Clearly you'd planned well, as the tables were just small enough that you could reach out and guide my hand up your skirt to touch you. When I found out you were already wet, I'll admit, I very nearly threw negotiations out the window and was inclined to make an offer right then and there. But I then refrained from showing my hand, Annamaree, because I wanted to see how far you'd go for a job like this."

Miss Jones shifts uncomfortably in her chair. Dr. McCoy' eyes are locked firmly on her cleavage, and then his eyes are sweeping lower, savoring the curve of her thighs. He notices with some excitement that the skirt is riding up and the lace tops of her stockings are again showing. He smiles when he notices her nipples hardening. When she glances up at him, he knows that she notices the unexpected distension in his pants.

"Do you wear panties to business meetings?"

Miss Jones clears her throat and locks eyes with him. He watches her body shiver from the intensity of his gaze, her butt wriggling in the secretarial chair.

"Is… is that part of the letter, sir?"

"No, Miss Jones. It's a question formed out of curiosity. Do you wear panties to business meetings, Miss Jones?"

"Um," she wavers. "Ordinarily I do, Dr. McCoy."

Undeterred by her sudden bout of shyness he presses for more, "But on special occasions?"

Miss Jones reddens slightly. "On special occasions I might not."

Dr. McCoy chuckles. "In that case, we'll have to evaluate your job duties, Miss Jones. See if we can provide some of those special occasions. Are you wearing panties today?"

"Yes, sir, I am."

"What kind?"

"A pearl-colored thong," she responds quickly but adds more slowly, "With pink lace."

"Very nice," hums Dr. McCoy. "A little skimpy for work wouldn't you say?"

"I… I prefer them skimpy," says Miss Jones. "They're… they're more comfortable that way, sir."

Seeing his opportunity he leans forward slightly as he speaks, "Are you aware that when you bend over in that skirt I can see not only your stockings but the line of your underwear?"

"I… I didn't know, sir." Her fingers are white from clutching the pencil so tightly; he's certain it'll break within the next few minutes.

"Come now," says Dr. McCoy. "I think you did. You like men to look at you don't you?"

"Y… yes, sir," she says. "I think… I do like it, yes."

He clears his throat and says more loudly: "Annamaree, when you reached out and grabbed me, I must say I expected you to just jerk me off right there under the table. Which would have been quite a treat, but I was even more pleasantly surprised when you leaned close and told me that you had much more in store for me if I agreed to your terms. When I asked you what those terms were, you told me to come upstairs and find out. Are your panties cotton, Miss Jones?"

Her face pink, her nipples showing clearly through the top, Miss Jones haltingly says: "I'm afraid they don't, sir."

"But you're beginning to wish they did, aren't you?" He can smell her, that deliciously musky scent that is uniquely HER. He hears himself growl in appreciation and watches as the pulse point in neck flutters in response. "Perhaps you could show me."

"Show you…" she stares at him wide eyed, the pencil going slack in her fingers.

"Show me your panties. Come now, you've told me all about them already. You've even admitted the tiny thing is soaked through. The least you can do is prove it."

After a moment, during which he inhales deeply the scent of arousal—both hers and his—and nervousness—hers alone-Miss Jones sets her pad on the arm of the chair and stands up, reaching for the hem of her skirt.

"Bring your pad," he says, gesturing over his shoulder to his desk.

Obediently, Miss Jones picks the pad and pencil up with faltering hands. She sets it on the edge of the desk and pulls up her skirt slowly, revealing first the lacy bands of her stockings, then the pearl-colored garters, then finally the thong with its pink lace.

Dr. McCoy looks over Miss Jones, his fingers clenching and unclenching, fighting the urge to reach out and break the spell.

"Take them off," he growls.

Her legs already quivering, Miss Jones tucks her fingers under the straps of her thong and pulls it down her thighs, hesitating when the slip of silky lace is just below her moist, swollen folds. It takes only a growl of encouragement to get her to obediently step out of the thong, lifting her feet through. He snatches the thong from Miss Jones's hand, brings it to his face, and inhales.

"You do wish they were cotton, Miss Jones. It's only 10:00 in the morning."

"Yes, sir, I know," says Miss Jones, quivering as she stands there with her skirt pulled up awkwardly around her waist.

"You've been wet ever since you walked in here, haven't you?" He tucks the thong away into his pants pocket. "You can't deny it. I've smelled you Miss Jones."

"Yes, sir," says Miss Jones meekly.

"I like the smell of you Miss Jones. You may not be aware of this but you have a very unique scent. I know wherever you are based off your scent. I can also determine your moods from your scent. Did you know that Miss Jones?"

She gulps, "No, sir."

"Indeed I can Miss Jones. For instance, when it was your birthday and the office staff threw you a surprise birthday party I knew from your scent that you were not surprised and only faked it. You can't fake anything around me Miss Jones."

"No, sir." She keeps her eyes locked on his as he continues talking.

"I know that you find me attractive Miss Jones. In fact, there is rare a moment where you are not aroused by me. Does my knowledge of your attraction excite you Miss Jones?"

"Y… yes, sir," says Miss Jones. "I suppose it does."

"Bend over the desk, then, and let's finish the letter."

Tucking the hem of her skirt into her waistband, Miss Jones bends over the desk. He silently thanks his office manager for making such wise choices in furniture purchasing as the desk is just high enough to lift her heels off the ground when she rests her hips on it. She spreads her legs without him having to prompt her. She takes the pad and her rapidly-dulling pencil and stands ready, her breasts pushed against the desk. He undoes his pants, painfully hard already. He presses up behind her and begins to dictate.

"When you lifted your skirt and bent over and put your bum in the air," he says, guiding himself to her entrance as she scrawls with shaking hands. "I knew you wanted it as bad as I did. But I had no idea how good you would feel wrapped around me. When I filled you, you squealed, Annamaree. I liked that. I liked hearing you squeal."

To punctuate his sentence, he drives deep into her, eliciting from her a squeal remarkably like the one he had just finished describing. He waits long enough for Miss Jones to grow impatient, wriggling back and forth. He smirks, bringing a hand down to hold her hips secure against the desk so he can control the movements. With agonizingly slow movement he withdraws almost to the tip and with equally slow motions he buries himself deep inside her again. It is torture to her, he knows that; the angle of her hips, the torturously slow pace he's setting, it guarantees that she won't last long. Her shorthand is becoming quite illegible, but she continues to scrawl as Dr. McCoy dictates.

"From the way you thrust back into me," he grunts in time with his thrusts into Miss Jones, "I knew right away that you were close to a climax." He releases his hold on her hips and isn't disappointed when she immediately begins to rock back on her heels, meeting him thrust for thrust. "I fucked you good, Annamaree, and you gave as good as you got. While I was content to draw out our encounter you turned and looked at me over your shoulder and I think, your exact words were, 'make me never forget your cock.' Your choice of words, Annamaree, further reinforced my confidence that your oral skills were more than adequate for the tasks of this job. Miss Jones, you're not transcribing."

Miss Jones is sprawled across the desk, moaning uncontrollably.

"Miss Jones!"

"S… sorry," mumbles Miss Jones, and grasps the steno pad and pencil. "Wh… where were we?"

He pounds harder into her, making her utter a moan of release as she finally reaches the orgasm she's been striving for when she lost track of the steno pad. "What was the last thing you got, Miss Jones?"

Her voice is hoarse. "'Make me never forget your cock,'" she whimpers as he continues to pump in and out. "'make me never forget your cock, make me never forget your cock. Ohhhhh…"

"Keep transcribing. I've got a 10:30." She clutches her pencil as he leans forward and slides his hands up under her until they are cupping her breasts. "Therefore, if you accept this offer, please report to my office at 9 am Monday morning for intake processing; I'll have your employment contract ready." He pinches her nipples roughly and angles his hips to hit her G-spot with each thrust. He feels her quivering beneath him, building up to another release. "Yours very truly, Dr. Hank McCoy, etc. etc." He slams into her one more time and lets out a growl of satisfaction, as hot jets of cum pump into her.

They stay like that for a few moments longer, each catching the breath they lost. Reluctantly, he withdraws and steps aside. He reaches down and grabs a bunch of tissues. Without asking, he kneels down behind her. Foregoing with the tissue, he leans forward and laps at the juices dripping down her thighs. He smirks when she moans and quivers from his touch. Once satisfied with his task, he uses the tissues to dry her off and steps back.

"Thank you," says Miss Jones. He tucks himself away and zips up. Miss Jones pulls down her skirt and he smiles when he notices that a few of her buttons are missing on her blouse.

"Now, I've got my 10:30," he says, leaning close to Miss Jones. "And you've got to move into your new office. You'll have a lot of new responsibilities in your new position." He pulls her to his chest and growls into her ear. "I'll see you tonight at my place, Anna?"

"I'm counting on it, darling," Miss Jones whispers back, and turns to leave. "Thanks for the raise."

"Don't mention it," says Dr. McCoy, a satisfied smile on his face.


End file.
